One Word
by StackofStories
Summary: Dumbledore decides that he can't allow Harry to be fostered under the Dursleys. He must be prepared to face the treacherous road ahead of him. Dumbledore sends Harry to Z-City where he will be trained by the strongest hero Earth has to offer. It's not Saitama. Modern Sorcerer's The Apprenticed Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**I decided to take Modern Sorcerer on another challenge, 'The Apprenticed.' It is unfinished, but I'll try to finish this. The chapters are bite-sized. Very silly. I hope I get a chuckle or two, I'd be happy with a smile. Minor Spoilers for the manga.**

* * *

 **One Word: The Great Reveal**

* * *

"Harry Potter," Voldemort's voice rang throughout the battlefield, high and cold.

Hermione squashed down the urge to check behind her. Voldemort was hidden, like the snake he was, waiting for his dramatic unveiling. A cliche villain move if Hermione ever saw one.

"Harry Potter, hear me, you have the option to end this battle. You can prevent more bloodshed, stop your comrades' death. Lord Voldemort wishes to save as much magical blood as possible. Meet me on the Front Lawn within the hour, or watch your friends perish."

Voldemort's voice was gone. The battle resumed.

Hermione gripped her wand. Jinx, spell, and charm was said between breathes and dodges. She pushed aside the well of dread that had crawled within her, she ignored the chill of fear that curdled insides.

Voldemort was playing another one of his games. He used Harry Potter as some guise of hope. Voldemort knew as Hermione knew, as their whole world knew, the only one powerful enough to defeat him, Dumbledore, was gone. Murdered by one of their own.

Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, supposed marked equal to Voldemort wasn't an option. Harry Potter was introduced to the Wizarding World at eleven and subsequently hailed as their savior. However, it became quickly obvious that Harry Potter was a dud.

In the background, Bellatrix cackled.

Hermione gritted her teeth. She forced herself to not check the fallen at her feet. She had to keep fighting because there was nothing else she could do.

Harry Potter was the reason why she never put stock in Divination. Harry Potter was the reason why the Wizarding World would fall. Harry Potter, Hermione swallowed back a sob, was the reason why they were going to die.

Harry Potter was never meant to save them.

The hour went by. Too fast. Too slow. Hermione fought with everything she had. Her mind spat out ideas as fast as she discarded them. There had to be something! This couldn't be her end, her friends' end, she was the smartest witch in all of Hogwarts – there was _always_ something, anything. Hermione needed only a minute – a blessed moment – where they could regroup and get their bearings –

A cloud of black smoke shot down from the sky. Voldemort appeared in all of his infernal glory. He was taller than any human, pale as marble, and every bit as cold and serpentine as she imagined.

"Time's up," he whispered, it sounded louder than any scream.

Hermione wondered where her Gryffindor courage had fled. Her body and mind at odds. She wanted to step forward and point her wand at Voldemort, to say _Avada Kedavra_ , and watch him fall. Yet, she was rooted. She tried to control the trembles that ran the length of her body.

"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked. He looked toward them with cruel scarlet eyes.

There was an angry outburst from Hermione's side. His name drew rancor. What was Harry Potter to them? _Nothing_. Harry Potter had been a constant and festered disappointment. The Light fought for themselves.

"Your charlatan savior has abandoned you," Voldemort continued as if he hadn't heard them. A vicious smirk on his lips. "He's smart enough to realize no one can stand against Lord Voldemort."

"Has the battle begun? I magicked my alarm clock away – I'm here! Harry Potter is here!"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. To her credit, she only rolled her eyes.

Harry Potter arrived in his typical fashion as if this was a Potions lesson and not a duel that determined the fate of the Wizarding World. Untidy in appearance. His robes were at least a size too big and his green-and-silver tie was sloppily done. His hair in its ever-present state of chaos. It was a wonder, truly, that his glasses were in tiptop shape.

Harry ran from their side to the middle of the battlefield where Voldemort and his allies stood. Voldemort dwarfed Harry.

"The Boy-Who-Lived has finally made an appearance," Voldemort said. His Death Eaters jeered behind him.

Honestly, the Death Eaters were rather tame in their childish taunts toward Harry. Hermione had watched Harry be insulted for the past seven years. Each progressive year somehow crueler.

Year after year they got taller– older, Harry Potter somehow remained eleven.

"… any last words?" asked Voldemort. His Death Eaters silenced. "Lord Voldemort will allow this."

Harry opened his mouth, but it wasn't his voice that spoke.

"Harry! Wait!"

All eyes seemed to turn toward a blonde girl on their side. Hermione frowned. Luna "Loony" Lovegood stepped forward. Her misty-eyed stare blocked out all others, singularly focused on Harry. She took another step forward.

Harry raised a single eyebrow.

"There's a flash sale at SugarPlum's; 50% off Treacle Tart."

Harry's face brightened. A clear shift from the boredom that was present seconds ago. He rubbed his hands together. "Thanks Luna!" he whirled around to face Voldemort. "Are you ready?"

Hermione thought she saw Voldemort twitch.

"Very well. Harry Potter, if you're so eager to die!" Voldemort cackled. Voldemort started his barrage, wordless and explosive. The brightest red, it shot toward Harry, engulfing him. Plumes of smoke and dirt covered them.

Hermione was prepared to see Harry Potter dead and the battle resumed. The dust settled. Harry stood there. Unharmed.

Harry blinked. Voldemort blinked. Hermione blinked. The Light Side blinked. The Death Eaters blinked. Aragog's many descendants blinked.

Voldemort fired off spells faster than humanly possible. Harry didn't dodge. He stood there and… and absorbed all of Voldemort's spells. The Death Eaters stepped forward. "My Lord, we can help. "

"He's mine!" Voldemort said.

He blew a huge fireball toward Harry. Hermione, feet away, had to cringe at the amount of heat the damn thing radiated. It rebounded with a flick of Harry's fingers.

It was a bewildering sight, Harry Potter, dud of Hogwarts, unscathed by all of this. Hermione almost understood the frustration on Voldemort's face. Harry Potter wasn't anything. He was abysmal in Potions. Dreadful in theory. Atrocious in spellwork. Hell, it was a persistent rumor that his wand wouldn't even work for him; Hermione had certainly never seen Harry use it.

Harry Potter scratched behind his ear.

Voldemort let out a wordless shriek. He had reached _that_ point.

Voldemort threw his everything, magnificent and utterly terrifying, into a spell. Black as sin, it coalesced into a wave and rushed at Harry. Harry yawned.

He brushed whatever it was that Voldemort attempted with another flick.

"Is that all?" Harry asked. He wiped his hand against his jeans.

"You dare!"

"Five minutes until the flash sell begins," Luna interrupted.

Harry gaped. He mumbled under his breath, he addressed Voldemort. "Er, can we reschedule this? Tuesday, I'm free."

"Witness the Boy-Who-Lived wanting to concede in the face of Lord Voldemort!" Voldemort boomed.

Hermione thought she heard someone laugh.

Harry sighed. He scratched behind his ear again. If Hermione had to guess it looked like Harry was contemplating. He stood there for about a minute before he shook his head. "Sorry Tom," Harry said. He sounded sad -no?- disheartened. "You were a good adversary, I almost thought you got me a few times, but we can't play anymore. You've hurt a lot of people and that's not simpatico."

"This false bravado won't work on Lord Voldemort!"

"Cease," Harry said, his voice weaved with a subtle power, that wasn't – couldn't – have been there before. He waved a hand in Voldemort's direction.

If Hermione had blinked she would've missed it. Voldemort was there one moment. In the next, he was gone.

Another blinking event occurred until Bellatrix screeched "My Lord! Kill the mudblood! Kill them all!" Bellatrix didn't get further than a step.

"Cease," Harry said. He snapped his fingers and all the Death Eaters and their allies disappeared in another split-second.

Stunned silence followed. What was there to say. Was it really over? Like that? Harry Potter had saved them like that – just – what in Merlin's name –

Luna broke from the fray. She trotted over to Harry, a serene smile on her lips. Her hands were tangled in that ridiculous adornment of bottle caps she called a necklace.

"A minute late," she told Harry cheerfully.

Harry spluttered. "We've got to go now. It might be all gone! The treacle tart, the cauldron cakes – I know that biddy ends the sale early!" Harry started to walk off. Luna nodded along.

"Hold on!" Hermione found her voice. Curious green eyes settled on her. Hermione shivered. There was hidden depth she never noticed before. A quiet strength unmatched that lurked beneath. "What did –what happened, what?" she asked.

Harry grinned. "I'm Harry Potter, hero hobbyist."

Harry grabbed onto Luna. They disappeared with a familiar loud pop.

Another silence followed. A tumbleweed rolled across the field. A lone wind whistled in their ears.

Then, Ron: " _What_ the bloody hell just happened?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I own nothin'. Read with caution, unbeta'd.**

* * *

 **One Word: The Bad Beginning**

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What's a hero without an angst-riddled beginning?

Sure, Harry's whole planet wasn't obliterated. His parents weren't killed in front of him… well, his Mom was but it didn't affect him much. Harry didn't have a beloved uncle that had dispensed sage advice before he indirectly caused his murder, and yeah, Harry had never been captured by terrorists and forced to build deadly technology.

But. Harry did have shitty origin-story.

Harry titled the earliest years of his life: Running.

His tatty sneakers slapped against the pavement. His white shirt, four sizes too big, billowed in the wind as he ran for his life. Projectiles of sharp-ended rocks and pencils flew and skittered at his heels.

Dudley and his gang were seconds behind him. They yelled with savage encouragement, _run run freak boy_! If Harry slowed down then his punishment wouldn't be so bad. _But_ if he slowed down, there would be punishment. Harry found he wasn't all that fond of black eyes, aching muscles, cuts, and bruises.

Harry darted right. Harry hugged the rotting brick wall. He squeezed into the tiny space afforded to him. Dudley's loud protests of "Get 'em!" was enough to hurry Harry along.

He ignored the brick-burn and barely contained his shout of joy when he made it to the other side where an open field was filled with forgotten toys and overgrown weeds. Harry was safe here. Dudley's gang hadn't ever made it this far.

Harry sunk down. His knees, scabby and knobby, pushed under his chin.

Harry waited for the sun to began its descent. Dudley would eventually get bored. The street lights would turn on and Harry would go home to prepare dinner.

Harry Potter wasn't like other children.

When the sun was halfway below the horizon, Harry stretched and got back to his feet. He already had an idea of what he was going to make tonight. It was a Friday. Uncle Vernon liked to unwind on Friday; curry was an acceptable Friday meal. It was also easy to stretch it for Saturday dinner.

Harry mumbled about cook times and ingredients and other Friday chores that needed to be done (the dishes, dusting, polishing the silver they never used and maybe Uncle Vernon's dress shoes) as he trekked back to the Dursleys. If dinner went well, Harry could have all his chores done by 8:30 and be in bed by nine. A nice prospective.

Harry's path to #4 Privet Drive was a calculated science. By the time he arrived the sun was gone, the sky was a mixture of dark oranges and light purples.

The porchlight on?

Harry had stayed out long enough for the porchlights to be turned on once before. He vowed to never do such a thing again after his talk with Uncle Vernon.

He stared at the bulb before he went in. Harry carefully shut the door behind him, he inched forward into the house, an obvious frown settled on his face. It was strange that he hadn't heard the telly, stranger that the house wasn't filled with Aunt Petunia's high voice as she gossiped with the housewives over the phone, the strangest of all was the lack of Dudley complaints to greet him.

"Harry, my boy!"

Harry jumped. He swiveled toward the living room.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia sat on the flower-print couch with the stretchiest of smiles. Dudley huddled between them. There was an old man in Uncle Vernon's armchair – the one that greeted him so merrily – he wore a long dress-like robe quite loud in appearance with an abundance of glimmer-glitter and dotted stars.

Harry stayed where he was. "Er, hello."

"Sit Sit!" the old man gestured to the open spot next Aunt Petunia. "We have a lot to discuss."

"Um, if you don't mind, I've been sitting for awhile. My legs are asleep." There was no way Harry was stepping closer to that dodgy man.

The old man stroked his white beard and his blue eyes twinkled. "Not at all. I confess I am overcome with the same affliction. I endeavor to stand most days, all days, until I can stand no more."

"Erm, yeah."

Harry had trouble believing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia let this man into their house.

"Where was I? Those nargles always stealing thoughts. Ah yes, a matter of great importance.

"Harry, you are…"


	3. Chapter 3

**i own nothin'. Read with caution, unbeta'd.**

* * *

 **One Word: The Exciting Exposition I**

* * *

The old man, Dumbledore was his name, stroked his silvery, waist-length beard. He peered down from his half-moon glasses and smiled at him.

"Harry," he said after some time. "I am sorry to place such a heavy burden on you, but our world will need you one day to fix our mistakes."

Harry had a gut feeling Dumbledore meant his mistakes.

Dumbledore stroked his beard some more. Harry wondered if this was Dumbledore's way of untangling it. Dumbledore clutched a shoulder, he pulled Harry close as they walked down the hallway. He stank of lemon and moth balls. "I also have to apologize for another terrible thing. I have taken you from your family. It's understandable to miss them; you'll see them again."

Harry didn't miss anything about his family. The Dursleys didn't like him. Harry didn't like the Dursleys.

"Your new guardian will teach you everything, yes, I'm sure. Be a good student for him, dear boy. Then, come back to save us all."

Harry blinked at Dumbledore. This old man with twinkling blue eyes that had whisked him away from the Dursleys to a brand new place. Z-city in the Nowhere Prefecture Dumbledore told him.

Did Harry forget to mention he was in an unmapped country somewhere in the Pacific because he was in an unmapped country somewhere in the Pacific.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon lied to him. Harry had travelled to this country in less than five minutes by touching a packet of Dentyne. Dumbledore called it a port-key. It was magic. There was a magic in the world. Harry was magic.

"I hope one day you can forgive me," Dumbledore said. He smiled down at him.

Dumbledore knocked on door 500, which didn't make any sense because they were on the fourth floor. Harry glanced around. The white walls were chipping, and the ceiling tile above – Harry frowned– it looked as if someone spilled coffee.

It took three knocks for the door to open.

The man was tall and slim, naked except for boxers, his skin tawny. He stood in the doorway scratching his butt. His spiky black hair stood up on all ends as if struck by lightning. He stared at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore spoke to him in a strange language. The man spoke back. Harry rocked on his heels. Behind the man, Harry saw inside his apartment. There was a TV in the corner and a bookshelf pushed to the right, the floors were a puke-green. Did the man live alone?

"Harry."

Harry flinched, his attention focused Dumbledore. Dumbledore produced a bone-white wand and pointed it at Harry's throat. "This will help the language barrier."

Oh.

"This is where I leave you, my boy. I regret that I couldn't stay longer but as the muggles say: duty calls."

Ew. Harry didn't need to know that.

The old man gave him a hard squeeze on the shoulder. "We'll meet again."

Harry nodded. There really wasn't anything else to do. He waited until Dumbledore left his view before he moved. Dumbledore was nutty for sure. But, he was kind, he had saved him from the Dursleys.

"Oi! Brat. Are you gonna come in or what?" said the man. He jerked a thumb into his apartment.

Harry scurried in. He didn't know where to sit. There weren't any couches or chairs, so, he sat on the floor. He criss-crossed applesauce'd. The man copied him and folded his arms.

"Ten words or less: Who are you?" the man asked.

"Harry James Potter," Harry ticked off his fingers. "I am seven. I am Boy."

"Nine words, nice," the man smiled. "Name's Blast, older brother, and salaryman.


	4. Chapter 4

**I own nothin'. Read with caution, unbeta'd.**

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 **One Word: The Exciting Exposition II**

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"You're a superhero!" Harry pointed at Blast as he came through the front door.

The TV behind him blared with the latest report: Derelict Dragon had been terrorizing Z-City for some time, and finally Blast had appeared. His white cape fluttered heroically in the wind, his cool words of "Stop or be killed." That single energy blast! It splintered the Derelict Dragon into like a billion smithereens!

Blast had saved them all. Again.

"You're Blast like _the_ Blast," Harry repeated. He hopped to his feet and followed his adopted big brother into his bedroom.

"Aren't you supposed to be at cram school or an extracurricular?" Blast asked, he loosened his tie.

"You obliterated Derelict Dragon!" Harry said. "No wonder I've had to use the extra-strength detergent to clean the big sheets cuz you use them as a capes!"

"I told you to stop with the damn housework!"

Harry shrugged. He had always done it. The point was Blast hadn't confirmed or denied any of his accusations.

"Does Saitama know?" Harry asked. He thought of his little brother, also adopted, and his reaction or lack of to the news.

"No. You aren't supposed to know either. Jesus, kid."

"I don't see how I'm not. Your name is Blast, it's also your superhero name, and when I look at the footage, you don't even have a mask to hide your identity. It's pretty obvious to anyone that pays attention–"

"Brat, the word limit. And, you've only just found out."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it.

"I want to be a hero! Are you like Batman or Superman?"

"Mm." Blast rubbed his chin. "I guess more like Superman and no."

"Why!" Harry nearly whined. Blast didn't tolerate whining from either him or Saitama. "Why can't I be strong just like you?"

"Why do you want to be strong?"

Harry did another one of those open-closed mouth acts because… because, well, he did have a reason. A reason that made him flush and want to run. That was all he was good at: running.

When situations got tough and there were people bigger than him, he ran. A lot of times they caught up to him. Maybe, Harry wanted to show all those people that made him run that he was strong. Harry wanted to make them fear him as he had.

"Brat."

Harry took an involuntary step back. He peered up at Blast. Blast looked at him, concern shined in his dark brown eyes.

"I ain't gonna help you beat up grade-schoolers."

Harry frowned. "Aren't superheroes supposed to help the needy? The weak!"

"Hero hobbyist." Blast shrugged. "Don't go expecting someone to come and save you."

Blast shooed Harry out of his room. Harry sulked back to the living room where he sat for the rest of the afternoon, folding the laundry. His eyes glued to the TV screen.

Over and over, the news station replayed the scene. Blast and his incredible energy wave that destroyed Derelict Dragon.

Harry swore he was gonna be that powerful one day.

Mysteriously, a stack of books appeared at his bedside the next day. Most of the books covered a series of basic workouts. There was even a piece of paper with instructions to do 75 push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and run 7.5 kilometers every day. Harry guessed that was good starting point to being strong like Blast.

But.

Harry pushed aside the workout books. He opened the book at the bottom of the pile. _Chakra Meditation_ , he read the bolded print. _The Key to Unlocking Your Inner Power._

Harry smiled.

Now, this was something he could get behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**I own nothin'. Read with caution, unbeta'd.**

* * *

 **One Word: The Exciting Exposition III**

* * *

"BREAKING NEWS!" a harried woman abruptly appeared on the screen in grainy focus. The banner below her read S-City Disaster Level: Demon in flashing yellow. "WE GO LIVE TO S-CITY NOW!"

Harry glanced up for his careful inspection of the fruit stand. His attention glued to the small TV in the corner. Another Mysterious Being? That would make it the fifth one this month.

"I am the Toilet Plunger!" Toilet Plunger yelled. The citizens of S-City screamed and panicked as they struggled in the ocean of shit.

"We need Blast! I repeat! We need Blast to save our asses! Oh, the calamity, everything is going to shit literally!"

Harry glanced to his left where Blast compared meat prices. Oblivious to the predicament, Blast had Saitama in his arms as he taught him the super-important techniques of haggling and effective coupon-dealing.

Toilet Plunger would drown S-City in sewage before Blast was done.

Harry hummed. He had been practicing both with Blast's physical regime and his meditation for a year. Harry knew he needed one word. That was it.

Harry's power was chaotic. What if he couldn't control it?

"I'll be right back," Harry said.

"You better," Blast said. He hadn't looked up from the stands.

Harry raced from the storefront and down the streets of Z-City. His speed wasn't comparable to Blast. Blast moved a bit faster than the speed of sound. Still, under Blast's tutelage Harry certainly moved faster than the average citizen.

Harry arrived outside of S-City in roughly ten minutes. His mouth and eyes drier than normal and odd bits of bug and twig matted in his hair. He followed the stench and thick trail of gook until he was within the heart of the city. Gradually, Harry was immersed in a waist-deep cesspool of warm shit and whatever else that ended up in the sewers.

He wadded around until he found Toilet Plunger.

Toilet Plunger was shaped into a giant black-green turd. It cackled as It stuck various people into Its body.

"Fear me! I am the result of your sewage system. No more out of sight and out of mind! Nobody can stop me! Soon, I'll join with the other sewage systems–."

Harry cleared his throat.

Beady black eyes focused on him.

Harry waved.

"How dare you interrupt my speech! I'll stick you...!"

Harry pointed at the giant turd. "Disappear."

The turd disappeared with a small, almost unheard pop, and so did everything else. The citizens. The ocean of shit. The entire city, buildings and all, had disappeared along with Toilet Plunger.

Oh _God_.

Left and right Harry turned. Nothing. There was nothing there. Just the ground and air. Harry didn't even hear the birds.

Harry gulped. Blast was going to be pissed. Maybe, if, Harry pointed in front of him. He thought of S-City without Toilet Plunger.

"Appear."

S-City popped into existence. Brand-new. Harry nearly cheered. No Toilet Plunger and no people. No signs of life. The wind whistled in the background. Harry was pretty sure he saw a tumbleweed roll on through.

1.5 million people were gone because of him.

It was enough to make Harry break out in a cold sweat. He had done this.

Okay.

Harry could fix this. He was ninety percent sure he could fix it.

Harry closed his eyes. He thought of people. A million people to be exact of all different ethnicities, careers, and families. "Appear."

Harry opened one eye and then opened the other. A million people had appeared. Justifiably confused, but they were there. Ha!

"Good job," Harry said. He decided to take the long way back home.

 **…**

"Oi, brat! What did you do?" Blast greeted him.

Harry closed the apartment door. An obviously confused expression on his face as he approached Blast. "What are you talking about?"

Blast, rather dramatically in Harry's opinion, turned on their TV. The same harried woman was on screen. She was sweating profusely.

Night of the Living Dead in S-City streamed across the screen.

Somehow the news station had set up a camera feed to S-City. The entire world watched the beginning of the end. A million zombies, pasty and moaning, moving at an incredibly slow rate and holy crap!– a little boy in blue–run!

Harry cringed at the sound of flesh being viciously torn.

"Zombies!" Saitama said from his spot on the floor. He still wore his preschool uniform from earlier. He clapped his hands.

"Er."

"Er can't fix this."

"I tried to make them reappear," Harry said lowly. "They were all gone when I made the Toilet Plunger go, so, I tried to make them appear. I thought it worked."

Blast scrubbed his face. Blast crossed his arms decidedly looking like his alter-ego. "Harry."

A ball of dread knotted in Harry's gut. "I'll go fix it."

"Dinner will be on the stove when you get back. Saitama, bed."

"But, zombies–"

Harry hung his head as he exited the apartment. Back to the S-City he went.

Harry stood on the boundary line of S-City alone. Already it looked like the cover of a dystopian novel: the dark clouds, the miasma of death and destruction. Oh, and the mass of zombies that moved at snail's pace spattered in the dark sheen of blood.

He was supposed to get rid of them. Clean up his mess.

Harry shook.

His nails dug into his jean fabric. It was just. Why did they all have to go because of his mistake? If he had better control than S-City would've been fine. If he had just focused and wasn't so eager, then… then… all of this could've been prevented.

This was his fault.

Harry had to own up to that.

He gathered up his power. He felt the spicy burn of it in the back of his throat. He thought of the zombies, all their victims, everyone and everything in S-City.

"Disappear."


	6. Chapter 6

**I own nothin'. Read with caution, unbeta'd.**

* * *

 **One Word: The Exciting Exposition IV**

* * *

"That little green brat!"

"Welcome home, Blast," Harry muttered. He watched the last of the daytime television. Harry almost wished he had enough initiative to do an extracurricular.

"She just appears with that scowl, destroys everything, and expects a thank you."

"Mhm." If he did an extracurricular then he couldn't double as superhero. There was a growing prevalence of those with extraordinary powers helping to destroy Mysterious Beings. Harry wanted to be one of the greats just like Blast was.

"I saved her ass once you know and now she's takin' all my business!"

"Right, right." Harry needed an alter-ego. A simple kid going to school was overdone.

"You've got a letter, brat. She has a ridiculous name, she calls herself the Tornado–."

Harry bolted from the couch to grab the envelope in Blast's hand. He had been waiting two weeks for this, to see if that tailor downtown took his design.

 _Mr. H. J. Potter_

 _Largest bedroom, left bed_

 _Z-City, Unmapped Country_

It was addressed to him, but this wasn't a reply from the tailor. If Harry were being honest it struck him as stalkerish. Harry flipped the envelope around. It also had a seal. Who used those anymore?

Harry opened it. An ominous anticipation built up inside, it was like his life was about to change forever.

"Holy! Shit! Fuck! Shit!"

Harry used all his speed to dart behind Blast. He peeked over Blast's shoulder. He saw a shadow in the hazy mist of smoke and glitter. If it were threat this was the place to be. There was nobody stronger than Blast.

"Harry, my boy! You've acquired quite the mouth."

That was a familiar voice.

"Brat. Watch your fuckin' language!"

Harry glanced at Blast. _Sure_ , big brother.

The mist cleared. It revealed a man. An old man with Merlin's white beard, the weirdest robes Harry ever saw, and a pair of twinkling-blue eyes he had nearly forgotten.

"Dumbledore?" Harry said.

Dumbledore smiled at him. "It is good to see you so well. We have much to discuss after so many years. You're turning eleven."

"In a month."

"The early faerie steals the best baby."

"Yeah, I guess."

Harry decided he liked his spot behind Blast. It was a good barrier against this nutter.

"You haven't told us why you're here," Blast said.

"It is time for young Harry to be reacquainted with his world."

Oh right. Magic. Harry had magic. He was magic.

"A bit young, yeah? I thought he was supposed to go back when it was absolutely necessary."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. His lips pursed as if he were sucking on lemon.

"It's imperative Harry comes back. I fear Voldemort has been biding his time for Harry's reintroduction."

"And if Harry doesn't?"

"Voldemort will take extreme measures to hunt Harry down. He will leave no one unharmed," Dumbledore said gravely.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. This was his moment. This was his hero's calling, it couldn't be more obvious.

"No."

"No?" Harry backed from Blast.

"No, he's too young."

"I'm not. Just last week I took on a _Dragon_ Level Threat and won."

"You almost destroyed T-Ville," Blast said thinly.

"But– don't I have say in this? Dumbledore is asking me to save their, excuse me, _my_ world. I can do this! I can be a–"

"No!"

Harry jolted. He felt as if he had been slapped. His ears rang and his face burned.

"Harry, why don't you go outside for a few moments," Dumbledore said. He smiled with his eyes.

Harry nodded. He sent a lasting look to Blast before he scurried outside. He wasn't too surprised when he pressed his ear up against the thin wall he heard nothing.

Harry supposed he could say a word to hear anything, but he could also get caught. Harry figured the best option was to wait. Besides, if he asked what Dumbledore had said Blast would spill the beans. Blast never hid information if Harry asked.

An hour and a half later, the apartment door opened. "Come in, brat."

Harry went in. He crossed his arms as he stared between the two.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. A loud crack like a car exhaust backfiring, and Dumbledore was gone.

"Erm?" Harry faced Blast.

His older brother didn't look too pleased. Almost like Saitama had drawn in his manga collection again, but Blast wasn't pissed; like the time he had to battle against a Mysterious Being made completely out of air.

Harry was optimistic.

"You can go."

Harry jumped once and then, he barreled into Blast's side to give him the biggest hug. He was going to be a hero!

"I haven't finished!" Blast knelt down. Harry wilted. "You have to be very careful over there. No being willy-nilly with your powers. No showin' that Dumbledore all your magic tricks. Be under the radar."

"Unless I have to defeat the evil person?"

"Unless you have to defeat the evil person," Blast parroted. "That's only if he really, really pushes you to your limits. I doubt he will, but don't get yourself killed."

Harry nodded so hard. He was pretty sure his head was gonna pop-off.

"I'm going to be like Clark Kent. I'm going to be like Superman. I'm going to be like you."


	7. Chapter 7

**I own nothin'. Unbeta'd.**

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 **One Word: Harry No Work**

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Harry was the last one in the classroom.

"Can I perform an exorcism on you?" Harry asked.

Harry jammed _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection_ and _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ in his pack. He grabbed his quill. He couldn't forget that. It was last one.

"Par-Pardon?"

Harry looked at Professor Quirrell for an odd moment as he adjusted the strap on his chest.

"Oh!" Harry got it. He hadn't used proper language. "May I perform an exorcism you?"

"Mr. Potter, I do-don't–" Professor Quirrell's speech dissolved into stutters and shakes of the head.

"Maybe the people that gave you that turban cursed you, or maybe you had your adult time and it's come to bite you in the butt. My big brother, Blast, always says to make sure you protect yourself, you never know what you can catch–"

"That's in-in-…"

"Appropriate. I know. I don't like to pry, really. But. It's a problem."

Harry walked closer to Professor Quirrell, his index finger pointed at him. Professor Quirrell's face twitched as he scuttled back.

"I think it-it-it's best if you-you-"

Harry didn't understand why Professor Quirrell was so nervous. He thought the guy would be happy considering the circumstances. Perhaps he had given up hope?

"It'll take five-ten seconds tops, you won't even feel it," Harry cajoled. "Actually, you'll probably feel better since you're slowly dying because of it. It's like a parasite."

"Wh-What." Professor Quirrell's eyes widened comically as he quaked, his face ashen. "My-My Lord?"

Harry paused. It was a leap of logic, sure, but had Professor Quirrell allowed someone- _something_ to attach themselves to his magic. It sounded mad to even hear it in his thoughts.

Professor Quirrell unwrapped his turban. Purple cloth coiled around his shoulders.

"You don't have to show me," Harry said. "I can see the aura just fine." He could. It was hard not too. Every time he looked at Professor Quirrell he saw a big black snake mass that consumed Professor Quirrell's natural grey.

"You aren't listening," Harry said.

The turban was gone. In place was Professor Quirrell's shiny bald head and when he turned around a terrible face straight out of the cinema was there. Paper-white, ruby red eyes, and snake-like nostrils.

"It has a face." Harry found his voice.

"Harry Potter. You aren't the dunderheaded fool," the face said, followed by a sharp amused smirk.

"You should talk to Snape."

The smirk got wider.

"Join me, Harry Potter. You needn't die like your foolish parents."

A light bulb alit.

"You're Voldemort?"

"I am," Voldemort hissed, obviously pleased.

Harry couldn't deny that he was pleased as well. "I'm meeting my arch-nemesis. That was quick."

"Yes, well. Your answer, boy?"

"You're serious?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Harry understood. Voldemort wasn't the type to make this deals often. It made Harry feel giddy. He was being courted by his arch-nemesis to be evil. It would be a great chapter to his story, but he had to be a hero.

He _had_ too.

"Thanks but no thanks."

"Very well. Quirrell! Seize him and kill him!"

Professor Quirrell spun around. He made to seize Harry, but Harry was all ready. Pointer finger out. His total concentration on ridding the parasite out of Professor Quirrell's system.

"Exorcise," Harry said.

"Aaargh!" There were a lot of exclamations marks and curses used as Professor Quirrell fell to the floor. Ashy black smoke seeped from Professor Quirrell's body as he convulsed.

Harry watched in horror for a solid five minutes before Professor Quirrell went lax.

"Er, did I kill you?" Harry approached Professor Quirrell in short steps. He looked dead, waxy and prone. Harry's hands burned as he rubbed his pack strap. "Professor Quirrell, please don't be dead."

Harry bended down, he grimaced at the cool feeling of Quirrell's neck only to smile when he felt his pulse. Weak, but there.

"Oh thank God, Merlin, whatever."

Harry moved back. He was beyond late to his next class and he would be later for going to get help. He was sure his professors would understand once he explained the situation.

"You stay here, Professor Quirrell," Harry said. "I'll be right back."

Harry wore a smile. He had vanquished his arch-nemesis. He was sure Blast would be proud when he wrote to him. What a good start to the year and end to his first week at Hogwarts. Now, if Harry could get his wand to work.


End file.
